


Mikleo's Adventures in Wonderland

by pengiesama



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: A System of Justice Based Entirely on What Puns Your Defense Attorney Is Capable Of, Alice in Wonderland References, Aphrodisiacs, Crossdressing, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 03:43:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12762411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pengiesama/pseuds/pengiesama
Summary: Mikleo whirled around, tugging his skirt down to prevent further attempts on his dignity (as much as it still existed).“Why do you keep running away? Sorey!”“We’re both very late,” Sorey called over his shoulder. “For an important date!”Mikleo awakens in a strange forest, separated from his friends. He is also in a dress. He then spots Sorey in bunny ears, and things progress about how you'd expect.





	Mikleo's Adventures in Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Codeadleaf (Caeliindyvo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caeliindyvo/gifts).



> This was done as a request from codeadleaf! <3

Mikleo awoke alone, in an unfamiliar wood. This was concerning enough: he recalled reading with Sorey underneath a tree as the group made camp at a clearing. The day was warm and summer-bright, the heat of the season making Mikleo lazy and sleepy as they sat. Amidst the chatter of their group and the characteristic hum of summer all around them, he recalled dozing against Sorey’s shoulder, the spot underneath Sorey’s chin just as warm and comfortable as it had always been. He recalled the noise of the rest of the team around them being – Edna’s complaining, Rose’s barking laughter – a comfort as much as it was a hindrance to his sleep. Though not much a hindrance in the end. His eyelids had drooped down, he’d nodded off…

…and found himself here, in this strange place, without Sorey, without anyone at all.

He was also wearing a poofy blue dress with a matching hair-bow. This was also concerning.

Mikleo felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment. He turned this way and that, looking down at himself in bewilderment. It wasn’t just the too-short dress (though that was bad). It wasn’t just the ridiculous oversized hair-bow (though that was even worse – Mikleo seized it off his head and flung it off into the brush). It wasn’t just the tight little corset on his waist, trimmed with silk ribbon and white lace (though that was…kind of nice). It wasn’t just the long white thigh-high stockings, which were held up on his legs with ribbons attached to some sort of odd suspension belt around his waist—

Mikleo heard a familiar wolf-whistle from the surrounding trees, and hastily re-arranged his skirts; only realizing after the fact that he’d had his dress hiked up to give the whole forest a gander at his underthings. Mikleo scanned the trees to try and spot the face he was expecting to see. And there he stood: Sorey, dressed in a rather smart-looking red, black, and gold suit and waistcoat. He was idly twirling a golden pocket-watch on a chain, and gave Mikleo a wink and another wolf-whistle when he caught his eye. Mikleo felt heat rise once more to his cheeks, and almost didn’t notice the white bunny ears on Sorey’s head.

Luckily, Mikleo caught himself before he could focus too long on the way Sorey’s tailored suit complemented the lines of his body, and forcibly reoriented his mood toward righteous fury. So Sorey wanted to play dress-up, did he!? Wanted to terrify Mikleo by running off while he was asleep!?

“ _You_ ,” Mikleo began, storming toward Sorey and trying to look intimidating despite his current fashion predicament.

“I,” Sorey agreed with Mikleo’s accusation. He gave him another wink, and darted off into the brushes; just as nimble and quick on his feet as the creature whose ears he wore.

The power of justice gave Mikleo the speed he needed to pursue the rogue rabbit, and Mikleo’s single-minded chase led him deeper and deeper into the strange wood; heedless of where he was being led to, where he was being lead from, or how he’d manage to get from to back to from. Mikleo took a tumble on a tree root, and tumbled further down an incline; plunging him into a clearing full of chaotic colors. Enormous flowers surrounded him, and murmured their concern in a chorus.

“My, what a fall,” said a matronly carnation. “Little blossom, did you fall from your branch?”

“It’s not nearly the end of spring,” said the hydrangea, in growing panic. “Not nearly. Not time for any of that.”

“Spring idles her days here,” said the orchid lazily. “It will never be time. He must have been shaken from his branch by a creature.”

“A creature! A blossom-shaking creature!” shrieked the hydrangea. “None of us are safe!”

Mikleo felt quite certain he’d hit his head on the way down. Maybe this was his karmic payment for all those herbs he’d picked over the years. He felt something slipping under his skirts, and he jumped, slapping at the intruder as he went. The petite pansies coming up to his knees were not deterred, and continued to paw at his skirts and underthings with curious leaves and tendrils. They turned their multicolored faces to him and blinked at him as he stumbled away.

“What kind of flower?”

“What kind?”

“Is it a flower? It has no green to feed itself with.”

“It is a flower. Look at its petals.”

“But the green?”

“Blossoms are delicate things. They have no green of their own, and devote their short lives to being as lovely as possible. They will simply waste away when they tumble down from their trees.”

“How dreadful. Its petals are so lovely.”

“It is a cautionary tale,” said the carnation mournfully, hushing the little pansies with a brush of her leaves. “Little blossom, do spend the rest of your limited time here with us. We will comfort you with songs while you wilt away into nothingness.”

“I think I better get going,” Mikleo said awkwardly, trying his best not to step on anyone’s roots as he backed out of the clearing. “I—there was a boy with rabbit ears, and--”

“The creature lurks nearby!?” the hydrangea shrieked in terror.

She went into a swoon, and in the resulting chaos, Mikleo was able to slip out of the clearing without further incident or leaves up his underthings. As he got further and further away from the noise of the flowers’ fretting and swooning, he was able to hear himself think again – which was perhaps a worse fate, considering the situation he had found himself in.

He considered himself well-read, if not well-travelled; having lived the majority of his life well-warded on Elysia’s towering peaks. While it was not impossible that he’d missed something in the Celestial Record or in one of Gramps’ natural encyclopedias referencing giant talking flowers, he found it a little unlikely that he’d have missed such a…notable kind of flora. Or fauna? Mikleo wasn’t entirely sure how to classify this. They hadn’t been hellions, Mikleo sensed no malevolence from them. But if not that, then what? And where _was_ he? Where was Sorey? Where was anyone?

“Lost little creature. Where do you find yourself wandering to, we wonder?”

It was a familiar voice – an awful, cruel, familiar voice. Mikleo whirled around, stretching out his hand to try and summon his staff. It came to him, but Mikleo quickly found out that he wasn’t the only one here who had gotten dressed up against his will. His staff was braided with silken blue ribbons and white lace, matching the trim of the corset on his waist and the stockings on his legs. The staff’s tip had been adorned with bow just like the one Mikleo had pitched into the bushes. In fact, it was exactly like the one Mikleo had pitched into the bushes…he eyed the stray leaves and branches caught in it, and tried to refocus his attention on the situation at hand.

He scanned the trees, looking for that familiar nasty smile. If Symonne was lurking about, it was all too clear what had happened to him: this was doubtlessly one of her illusions, and Sorey and the others were probably likewise trapped. Mikleo steeled himself, ready to fight. Even alone, even dressed like a frilly cupcake, he was ready to fight his way out, and save Sorey and the others from her clutches in the process.

Finally, Mikleo said nasty smile…and only the smile, which was the odder part. The smile was hovering a few inches above a tree branch, and a pair of eyes blinked into existence above it. The rest of Symonne slowly followed. Symonne was wearing a big plush purple-and-pink fursuit with a kitty headband on her head. It was considerably more modest than her normal attire, and Mikleo was pleasantly surprised despite himself. Surely he couldn’t be the only one on their team who got seriously uncomfortable whenever she showed up? Being around Zaveid was bad enough. Symonne seemed like quite an old seraph instead; perhaps it was something that was common in seraphim undergoing a mid-life crisis? He knew he was quite young by seraph standards, and while he tried to be respectful to his elders, he—

“We wonder; where could this creature be going? That way, this way, or which way?”

Mikleo stared at her in confusion, and scanned the tree branches around her.

“…we?” he asked.

Symonne’s grin faltered, and she looked around her in growing panic. Finally, she looked down, and growled out a curse. Beneath the tree branch where she lounged, there was a patch of green; helpfully labeled with a tiny wooden stake: “catnip”. In this catnip patch, Heldalf himself lay; dressed in a matching purple-and-pink fursuit, and stoned out of his gourd. He was purring very loudly, and making air-biscuits with his paws.

Symonne tried to plaster on her wicked smile again, to salvage the mood of the situation, but as Heldalf’s purring became louder and louder, it became a lost cause. Mikleo would press this psychological advantage with all he had. Chin held high, he stepped forward, his skirts swaying with the motion. He pointed his be-ribboned staff at Symonne.

“This is your doing, isn’t it?” Mikleo accused. “Lift this illusion now.”

“Or?” Symonne asked imperiously.

“Or else we give the normin paparazzi a tip that you’ve been hanging around in a frumpy fursuit. I’m sure that would be a front-page story in the gossip rags – a fashion icon like you, fallen so far.”

All the color drained from Symonne’s face. She dug her claws into the branch, grit her teeth, and glared daggers at Mikleo. Mikleo’s gambit to appeal to her stylish sensibilities had apparently worked – but maybe a little too well.

“If this creature wishes to leave,” she snarled. “He must go a certain way. But which way is this way? This we cannot say.”

Heldalf purred even louder, and began to drool on himself in the drug-induced haze of happiness. Symonne was a portrait of fury.

“THIS I CANNOT SAY! THIS I WILL NOT SAY!” she shrieked. Pieces of herself disappeared with each syllable, until only her face remained. She paused to glare at Mikleo again, and finally, blinked out of existence once more. “GOOD DAY!”

Heldalf remained after she departed; still drooling, purring, and making biscuits in the air. Symonne popped back into existence to drag him after her, but it took her just long enough to be awkward. Mikleo was then left alone in the clearing, feeling at once accomplished and totally lost.

So, he’d figured out who did this to all of them – but what was he going to do about it?

As if responding to Mikleo’s indecision, Mikleo again heard that familiar wolf-whistle. Mikleo tugged at the back of his skirts self-consciously, looking around for those stupid bunny ears. He spotted Sorey leaning on a gate nearby, which led to a cobblestone path – down which Sorey took off running, and down which Mikleo followed him. Mikleo might not have a solid plan, but he did have a rabbit to chase, and that was enough for now.

Sorey had always been fleet of foot – while Mikleo was lighter on his feet than him, after Sorey’s damn growth spurt, those long legs of his constantly kept him a step or two ahead. Mikleo tried his best to keep up, but just couldn’t seem to keep pace with the distraction of his skirts swaying everywhere as he ran, with the uncomfortable pinch on his thighs of those ribbons holding up his stockings. Suddenly, Mikleo felt the cobblestones shift beneath his feet, and the path split in two as if forcibly mirrored – Sorey was running in one direction, and Mikleo headed in another; as unable to reach Sorey or touch him as if he was on the other side of a looking-glass. Mikleo felt panic and loneliness seize his heart once more.

At the end of the cobblestone path, Mikleo saw a garden of enormous mushrooms – the smallest as large and plush-looking as a parlor chair, the largest almost as big as their homes in Elysia. Mikleo wandered through this mushroom garden dumbly, feeling unsure of what to do next – of what he even _could_ do next.

As he walked, a wonderfully familiar voice spoke to him.

“…that outfit, yes, I suppose you’re getting to that age…”

“Gramps!?” Mikleo cried out, whirling around, trying to find where the voice was coming from. “Is that you!?”

“Yes, well, they’ve gotten to that age, I suppose it’s time for dressing like that, and acting like that, and doing things like that…”

Mikleo finally spotted Gramps lounging on a mushroom, puffing on his pipe thoughtfully. As Mikleo dashed over to him, overjoyed, he almost failed to notice the fact that Zenrus’ lower half had been replaced with a caterpillar tail. He _almost_ failed. He almost wished he had.

Zenrus took another deep drag of his pipe, and studied Mikleo carefully. He nodded slowly.

“…that time, and time for that talk. You see, boys, when a human and a seraph love each other very much, the human calls the seraph’s true name, and all his clothes fly off and are replaced with a skintight jumpsuit…”

So, if Sorey and Gramps were any indication, not only was Mikleo not the only one ensnared in this illusion, but he was potentially the only one in his right mind. Mikleo sat down heavily on a nearby mushroom, his skirts billowing out around him gracelessly. Sorey, Gramps. Probably the rest of the group as well, and maybe even the rest of Elysia too. It would be one thing if he was the only one trapped here, if the only one he had to save was himself. But how was he to stage a rescue attempt for a two dozen souls or more? Especially when those two dozen souls were all completely off their rockers.

Mikleo felt Gramps’ comforting hand on his shoulder. Then about a few dozen more of those comforting hands; patting his shoulder, patting his head, patting his knee. Mikleo forced a smile, and tried to appreciate the effort. Through the clouds of smoke surrounding Gramps’ head, Mikleo saw his familiar smile.

“There, there now. No need to fret,” he said. “It happens to all seraphim at some point in their lives. Why, I recall my very first time – and I’ll have you know that anything a human can do, it can be done that much and more at a little place called Katz Korner. It was a warm summer evening so many years ago, and I was in the VIP lounge with a waitress named Mitzi--”

“Thanks, uh, that’s great and I feel so much better,” Mikleo frantically interrupted. He spotted a pair of bunny ears in the brush, and sprang to his feet to pursue. “I think I see Sorey, though, so I need to chase him down before he gets himself in more trouble.”

Gramps nodded wisely, and his many caterpillar legs dug in his many pockets until one of them produced what he had been looking for. He shoved a pair of caramel-colored hard candies into Mikleo’s palm, and gave him a little wink.

“For you and Sorey,” he instructed. “Don’t you get greedy and gobble both up, now.”

“Thank you,” Mikleo murmured earnestly. He tucked the candies into the pocket of the apron atop his skirts. He looked down at his shiny black shoes, and made a promise aloud. “I’ll get us all out of here. No matter what it takes.”

Gramps made an agreeable noise, and popped his pipe back into his mouth. “Mmm. Go run along now and have fun. Make sure you boys are back before dinner. Hrm, Mitzi, I haven’t thought of you and your saucy little whiskers in years…”

And that was Mikleo’s cue to beat a hasty retreat. He followed Sorey through the forest as his ears dipped behind trees and from beneath bushes; from behind the petals of oversized blooms and darting to disappear behind rocks when Mikleo tried to catch him. As Mikleo whirled around trying to spot where Sorey had gotten to this time, Mikleo felt Sorey’s hands grab him from behind; gripping onto his waist right where the corset cinched him tightest. Mikleo tried not to gasp as Sorey hooked his chin on his shoulder, his breath hot and damp against Mikleo’s neck.

“How doth the little rabbit shake the blossom from its branch?” Sorey’s lips brushed against his ribbon-and-lace choker, and travelled upward to nuzzle behind his ear. “Tumbling ever downward, snatched up between his jaws.”

Mikleo made an embarrassing noise when Sorey’s teeth closed on his ear. While one hand continued to caress the exaggerated curve of Mikleo’s waist, Sorey’s other hand wandered down to play with the ribbons that held up Mikleo’s stockings. Mikleo had retained just enough clarity of mind to smack at his hand when his fingers started trying to untie the ribbon from its fastener. Sorey made that annoying little whiny noise he always made when Mikleo denied him a treat, and nuzzled against Mikleo’s neck more insistently. Mikleo sucked in a breath, and let it out slowly, trying to steel his determination and focus on his mission.

“Your poetry isn’t nearly good enough to make me drop my drawers that easily,” Mikleo said, with effort. “Let me go. Snap out of it.”

Sorey whined again, and smoothed his hand from Mikleo’s waist down the front of his corset.

“But I’m hungry,” Sorey insisted. “And you look good enough to eat.”

Mikleo remembered the treats in his apron pocket, and quietly gave thanks to Gramps for his foresight; even when he was an illusory caterpillar with an unfortunate lack of a mental filter. Mikleo leaned back against Sorey, and covered Sorey’s wandering hand in his own, guiding it down into his pocket.

“Gramps gave us a snack,” he said. “One for you and one for me—hey!”

Sorey snatched both candies from Mikleo’s pocket and popped them both into his own mouth, grinning at him cheekily. Before Mikleo could properly scold him, Sorey grabbed Mikleo by the back of the neck and captured his mouth in a hungry kiss. Mikleo couldn’t help the moan that tore from his throat, and Sorey took the opening to slip his tongue between Mikleo’s lips. He generously slipped one of the two candies into Mikleo’s mouth with the motion. Sweetness burst across Mikleo’s senses – Sorey’s taste and touch and scent, his low moans and the half-lidded, greedy look on his face as he pulled back to let Mikleo gasp for breath.

Mikleo tried to collect his thoughts through the haze that had seized him. Certainly, he and Sorey had kissed before – and then some. But Sorey was usually slower, more gentle. Did Sorey always have this in him, or was it all thanks to Symonne’s illusion? If it was the latter option, should he be thanking her? Mikleo didn’t know anymore. Mikleo didn’t know _anything_ anymore. Sorey’s fingers were toying with his stocking ribbons again, and Mikleo felt his eyes fluttering shut as he hauled Sorey back in for another kiss or three.

Suddenly, the wonderful taste of Sorey’s lips and his firm grip on his waist and thigh were both gone. Mikleo made a despairing noise and looked around, bereft, for where Sorey had gotten to this time. The caramel candy still in his mouth buzzed with magic, and then quieted – had the candy transported him out of the woods and to…wherever he was now? Was this Gramps’ idea of a cruel joke, or his method of making sure the two of them didn’t go too far? Well, he’d have Gramps know that _that_ ship had long since sailed, thank you very much.

Fuming and more than a little frustrated, Mikleo irritably rearranged his skirts and scanned his surroundings. He was in the front garden of a fancy-looking brick house, and from within the house was coming an unholy-sounding racket.

Mikleo heard the agonized shrieks of a chorus of normin from within the house, and then a loud bang that rattled the windows and sent a cloud of black smoke from the chimney. Judging from the evidence at hand, Mikleo could hazard a guess at who he could expect to find inside. He sighed and massaged his temples as the normin screams returned in full force. 

He was uncomfortable and miserable enough: alone, disoriented, dressed like this, and freshly separated from Sorey with a bonus helping of sexual frustration to go along with it. Did he really want to add to his collection of various sorrows by willingly interacting with Edna? God only knew what Symonne’s illusion had done to her already-questionable personality. Nonetheless, he couldn’t simply leave her here to while away her days in this wicked, bizarre mirage, blowing up her house and torturing normin – though honestly, Mikleo was pretty sure she wouldn’t object to pursuing that as a career. Maybe he’d be doing her a favor.

Mikleo tapped his foot impatiently for a minute or two, trying to triumph over his conscience for once. In the end, he heaved an explosive sigh and trudged toward his certain demise. The chimney drooled thick black smoke, and the house itself seemed to wheeze pitifully as Mikleo approached. Mikleo could relate. He set his hand on the doorknob, steeled himself, and cautiously peered inside.

“Finally,” Edna said accusingly. She pointed at him with that damned umbrella, which currently sported a cake-themed print. “The duty of a housekeeper is to keep house! There’s almost no house left to keep, all thanks to your negligence. Where have you been?”

The source of the chimney’s billowing smoke was clearly the kitchen, which was so thick with fumes that Mikleo could barely see the brightly-colored normin kitchen crew frantically running around on the countertops and crawling along the floors. The oven flew open, and a shrieking normin flew out like a torpedo, smashing into the wall next to Mikleo and splattering both Mikleo and the surroundings with the cake that it had clutched in its paws. For once, Mikleo was thankful for the apron on his outfit. He wiped his face and hands clear of the chocolate debris, and stormed over to Edna.

“I could ask you the same thing! I’ve been looking for you and everyone else!” he said, furiously. How did she always get him this angry this easily? It was so embarrassing. “Symonne has us all trapped in one of her illusions, and you’re just sitting here, lazing around and eating cakes!”

Edna turned up her nose at his admonishment, and primly examined her teacup. Her place setting was meticulously arranged; with elegant china and two dozen dessert forks of increasingly smaller sizes. It was also spackled with cake shrapnel from the chaos going on in the kitchen.

“It is the duty of a duchess to sample the fruits of her servants’ labors,” Edna said airily. If Edna was under the delusion that she was a duchess, that would explain her regal-looking gown, and the small tiara atop her head. “I am doing my duchess duties. Which is more than can be said of my errant housekeeper, in his frilly little underthings.”

Mikleo went beet red, and tugged his skirts down again, self-consciously. Edna scowled and knocked at his knees with her umbrella.

“Stand up straight! It will not do for you to slouch. It’s just as Plato said: one must keep oneself before one keeps house.”

Mikleo gave an ungracious yelp, and ducked as a pair of normin chucked a finished cake at Edna via the kitchen’s installed trebuchet. Mikleo could honestly say that he wasn’t surprised any house of Edna’s would come prepackaged with siege weaponry. The cake plopped itself on Edna’s plate, and she shielded herself from the spray with her umbrella. Mikleo peeked out from under the tablecloth, carefully creeping back up, ready to dart back underneath the table if more cake warfare was imminent. Edna delicately picked up a tiny dessert fork, and used it to sample a bite of the cake before her. She frowned at the taste, then inspected her fork – she then hastily set it back in its place; looking wholly abashed. She quickly picked up the fork sitting just beside it, and stabbed that into the cake with forced confidence; as if trying to make up for her faux pas. 

And yet, all the forced confidence in the world would not cover the utter gracelessness of the way Edna retched at the taste and swallowed it down as if she was gulping the vilest of medicines. She hauled Mikleo in by his apron, and used it to wipe off her mouth. Mikleo sputtered in barely communicable disgust. 

“I ordered a spice cake!” Edna shouted. She climbed onto the table and, using her umbrella as a croquet club, pitched the cake back into the kitchen. It disappeared into the smoke, but made an audible splat. The normins started shrieking again, running around in panicked terror at Edna’s fury. “Spicy enough to give me dragon breath! It’s just as Plato said: more pepper, more hot sauce, stop skimping and get cracking!”

Mikleo stared at her, baffled. “You know that a spice cake isn’t actually supposed to be spicy, right? It’s just a cake that has spices in it – nutmeg, ginger, cinnamon--”

Edna scoffed again, and flung herself off the table to cannonball into her chair in a veritable hurricane of skirts. “I do not expect that the hired help can judge my noble palate. My idle, errant little housekeeper can busy himself by bustling his entire self upstairs to fetch my gloves. Quickly now – I don’t expect the second floor of the chateau to last much longer.”

Another explosion rocked the kitchen, and Mikleo was chased back by the billowing smoke; back and up the stairs. He panicked, and his staff came to his hand almost instinctually. The heat and flames were all too close, and Mikleo sent forth a torrent of artes to extinguish them – and hopefully wash away Edna’s imprisoned normin work-staff; carrying them off to better prospects and less oppressive lands. In the process, Mikleo found himself being washed away as well; caught in the current, swept out the doors, and carried off by the tides over the treetops and over the horizon. Mikleo sputtered and tried to keep his head above water enough to see where he was heading – while he had no need to concern himself about drowning, and didn’t just sink like a stone like certain earth seraphim, he tended to get caught up in whatever large bodies of water cared to do at the moment; wherever they cared to go, he was unable to fight against the direction of the flow. 

Mikleo felt his cheeks burn red as he surveyed his work, and clutched his staff tight to his chest. His skirts and petticoats billowed around him, making him resemble an embarrassed jellyfish. He had just meant to put out a kitchen fire, not drown the whole forest. The whole forest. The whole – Sorey. Mikleo’s mind went blank and wild with panic. _Sorey_. He had no idea where Sorey went, he had no idea if Sorey had gotten to safety before the tsunami hit. There was endless water from horizon to horizon, and no sign of lifeboats – no sign of life at all. Mikleo’s heart felt like it was about to fall out of his chest and sink to the bottom of this newfound ocean’s floor. 

So this was how it was to end. Symonne’s illusion had succeeded. She’d turned them all into her little dolls in this bizarre dollhouse, and turned Mikleo on them all. Mikleo felt himself sinking under the waves, no longer caring enough to keep treading water. His hair floated about his head like a halo, obscuring his vision of the receding sunlight that winked weaker and weaker through the murmuring abyss. 

After falling for what seemed like an eternity – but all the same, no time at all – Mikleo hit the bottom, and lay there listlessly. As he stared up at the dim light above him, he heard something approach. It would be good to be eaten, he thought, before the despair set in. He didn’t want Symonne or Heldalf to be able to use him once he became a dragon. He looked to his side to greet his end, and spotted Sorey, outfitted in flippers, a snorkel, and riding a shark pool toy. He was still dressed in his fine red and gold suit, and the shark had been outfitted to match. Mikleo’s heart felt too full of joy to mock Sorey’s fashion choices. He blinked away his tears, not wanting to contribute to this ocean of his own making any further.

A school of colorful normin swam by, pulling Edna’s clam chariot along behind them. Gramps floated after her, safely ensconced in a field of bubbles puffed from his pipe. Mikleo felt giddy with relief, and allowed himself to be picked up and settled side-saddle atop Sorey’s inflatable steed. Sorey leaned in close, bumping his nose with Mikleo’s as he shifted his snorkel to the side to free up his lips.

Mikleo focused on the feeling of Sorey’s mouth moving against his own; he saw the bubbles of their breath drift upward through the waters before his eyes slipped shut. Mikleo felt ready to drown in bliss, but maintained enough presence of mind to breathe artes into Sorey’s lungs; preventing him from drowning in a more traditional sense. He was awash in relief and happiness, and slid his fingers up into Sorey’s hair to tweak at his bunny ears. They twirled in the ocean waters, Mikleo’s skirts and ribbons coiling around them like the fins of a mermaid.

Suddenly, the wonderful press of Sorey’s mouth on his was gone. The warmth of his body and the feeling of his hands, likewise. Mikleo made a needy noise, and cracked open an eye to see where Sorey thought he was going.

Mikleo unfortunately rapidly found out that he was also the one going as well. He pressed at the walls of his bubble prison, gazing helplessly down at Sorey, who was being swept away by the currents in his own bubble. No, no, no, not again! Mikleo kicked and punched at the elastic walls, trying in vain to free himself. Every time he found Sorey, Sorey was snatched away from him like clockwork. He didn’t know how this illusion of Symonne’s was structured, but something within Mikleo – something that was in tune with magic, that thrummed with the pulse of the earth – something within him told him that catching up to Sorey was the key to breaking this spell. And what other guidance did he have? What other options did he have to get back to the real world, where things made marginally more sense? Mikleo had little choice but to follow his instincts. He burned with the determination to find Sorey once more, even as the bubble carried him up, up, up and away.

The bubble finally surfaced, and Mikleo found himself not on the surface of the ocean, but rather in the fountain of another strange garden. He tried to take stock of his surroundings. Unlike Edna’s stately chateau, this home was a modest little cottage. The garden was all set out for a tea party, and Mikleo was welcomed by a trio of familiar faces.

“Welcome to the Sparrow Tea House!” Rose trilled. “Please, have a seat and a lovely waitress will be with you shortly!”

She was dressed in a strange-looking patchwork men’s suit, with Dezel’s hat adorning her head. Flinging the stack of menus she was carrying into the air, she raced over to the fountain, knives a-twirling, to greet their guest up close and personal. Thankfully, the knives were simply put to use in popping Mikleo’s prison; once freed, Rose lifted him out of the water bodily and slung him over her shoulders to haul him over to the table. One of her hands grasped Mikleo’s wrists in an inescapable grip, and the other hand was perilously close to slipping up his skirts. Mikleo wondered what it was about himself that made humans so intent on manhandling him.

Rose hefted him down not unlike a sack of potatoes, into a plush reclining chair that had little place at a dining table. Mikleo took a look around the table, trying to prepare himself for the indignities he was surely about to suffer. The table was a hurricane of color and a frenzy of mismatched dishes; some stacked with pastries and fruit and other teatime treats, others empty and covered in crumbs and jam. Alisha was fast asleep on one large serving platter, next to an extremely precarious tower of cupcakes. She was wearing mouse ears for some reason. Shattered teapots were heaped at one end of the table, which appeared to be Rose’s domain; she had retreated there and was currently experimenting on her latest unfortunate porcelain subject, stuffing things at random into the teapot.

“…” Mikleo wished he wasn’t so curious, sometimes. He had to ask. It was a physical compulsion, like when he was called to Sorey’s side by a shout of his true name. Mikleo sighed, and leaned on his hand. “…what are you _doing?_ ”

“Perfecting our newest blend!” Rose explained cheerfully. She grabbed a fistful of blueberry scones from the nearest platter, and tried to mash them into the already-overflowing teapot. “And you’re the lucky millionth customer, so you get first crack at it!”

“Welcome to the Sparrow Tea House,” said another familiar voice. “Give me your order or leave.”

Mikleo startled and looked upward, his heart twisting. Dezel. He knew Symonne was cruel, but to use the image of someone she’d personally driven into an early grave as just another paper doll in her illusions…that was a new low. Dezel loomed over Mikleo as he always had, and was dressed in a waitress outfit with little bunny ears on a headband in place of his bestolen hat, which was also something that Mikleo wasn’t super surprised by. It rather suited him.

“So you got hauled in here too?” Dezel asked, flatly.

Mikleo blinked, and felt a flutter of hope in his chest. Had he finally found someone sane in this strange place?

“You…know where we are?”

“The Sparrow Tea House. I literally just said that.”

“…no, I mean where we _are_?”

“At a table.”

“I mean…where we are in the physical sense?”

“In a garden. If you’re going to ask me where we are in a metaphysical sense, I’m not getting paid enough to debate existence and the nature of the independent mind on the clock.”

Mikleo stared at him blankly. Dezel stared at him right back. Presumably. Mikleo could feel wind tickling his face.

“Here’s your menu. Do you want me to tell you about the specials?” Dezel asked.

“Specials…specials…” Alisha murmured in her sleep. She kicked her leg as if she was running in her dreams, and with the motion, wound up toppling the teetering tower of cupcakes onto herself with a loud splat. Rose clapped in delight, and raced over to scoop as much glitter and frosting as she could into her overflowing teapot.

“We’re currently out of cupcakes,” Dezel advised Mikleo.

“For the love of…” Mikleo leapt from his seat to try and dig Alisha out of the mush before she suffocated. As he uncovered her face, he found that she was still sleeping peacefully, and was wholly unperturbed by the cupcake catastrophe. He scowled at Rose, who was carefully picking strawberries out of the sugary slop to add to her teapot. “And I’ll have you know that’s not how you make tea! You don’t even have any herbs in that mess--”

“I do so,” Rose said, not without a little offense. “I got some leaves from those trees over there.”

There was a colorful oak tree in the garden that Rose was referring to, and fully half of it had been messily stripped of its leaves. A ladder still leaned against the trunk.

“Give me that,” Mikleo demanded, and swiped the teapot from Rose’s mitts. “First off, you need tea leaves, not leaves from a tree.”

“What about a tea tree?” Rose countered. “Those have leaves. And have ‘tea’ in the name. You should _leaf_ yourself open to more options.”

“First off, that’s _so_ poisonous it’s not even funny, secondly, that’s an oak tree you mangled anyway!” Mikleo emptied the contents of the teapot onto an empty plate on the table; a gooey substance squelched out of the pot, speckled with fruit rinds, crumbs, and whole oak leaves. It was the farthest thing from tea imaginable – it wasn’t even liquid, which was the least of its problems. “…look. Get me some of that lavender and chamomile that’s growing in the garden over there, and I’ll make something for your restaurant. Also, thirdly, _leaf_ the puns to the professionals.”

Why was he playing along like this? Even in this illusory world, Rose’s enthusiasm for her business ventures was contagious, and Mikleo felt compelled to help – or at least ensure she didn’t wind up poisoning someone, which was an exceedingly likely scenario.

Rose had brought him back the plants he’d asked for; yanked from the earth roots, dirt, and all. Mikleo gave a frustrated sigh and set to work. Alisha stared owlishly at Rose as she dusted off her hands, and then burst into an undignified guffaw of laughter.

“ _Leaf_ himself open!” she shrieked between gasps. “It’s—it’s because—one leaves oneself open to leaves in the natural sense and--”

Alisha trailed off, and as if in slow motion, leaned over to fall asleep on the table again. Rose tiptoed over and began to tenderly tuck her in under a blanket of cupcake mush. Mikleo left them to whatever that was about and set to preparing the tea blend.

“Here,” Mikleo said. He had made a small sample pot of his blend for them to taste, and carefully portioned the rest of the dry mix into a clean empty tin. “Brew it with some lemon and ginger, and it’s perfect for having with cookies while you read. I used to make it all the time for Sorey in Elysia.”

Rose’s eyes shone with wild glee, and she snatched up the pot, holding it above her head triumphantly.

“The Sparrow Tea House introduces the Lovers’ Blend!” she crowed. “Complete with seraph blessing! One sip and you’ll find your one true love, guaranteed!”

Mikleo watched as Rose scrawled their new offering onto their menus, and sensed he needed to move on before Rose turned him into a one-person tea slave. Alisha sleepily creaked up, clutching her mush blanket around her, and took a sip of the blend directly from the teapot’s spout. She swallowed, then looked over at Rose, and jumped in surprise.

“…it worked…” she said, with no little wonder in her voice.

“Gimme that,” demanded Dezel, snatching the pot from her and likewise taking a swig.

Suddenly, a herd of dogs burst through the garden gates, yipping and jumping and drooling. Dezel looked overjoyed, but Mikleo found himself running for the hills without even quite realizing it. Dezel – whether he was an illusion or a ghostly apparition – was welcome to afterlife being showered in the questionable affections of those barking, snarling creatures. Once he was a good distance away from the cottage, Mikleo stopped to lean against a tree and catch his breath.

“Rrrruff,” said a low voice in his ear.

Speaking of questionable affections, Sorey had made an appearance once more. He pressed up against Mikleo’s back, and slipped two fingers into the hem of Mikleo’s stockings. He pulled the elastic back and then let it snap against Mikleo’s thigh. Mikleo whirled around, tugging his skirt down to prevent further attempts on his dignity (as much as it still existed).

“Why,” Mikleo asked, starting forward to try and grasp onto Sorey’s lapels. Sorey bounded out of his reach not unlike the rabbit he masqueraded as, and continued to skip and bounce about as Mikleo chased him down the forest path. “Why do you keep running away? Sorey!”

“We’re both very late,” Sorey called over his shoulder. “For an important date!”

“Date!? What are we late for? Sorey, if you know where we are, or how we can get out, just tell me, for god’s sake--”

Sorey blew a kiss at Mikleo, and before Mikleo could react, the path between them was overgrown by a tangle of thorns and a confusion of roses in every color of the rainbow. Red, pink, white, yellow, green, even blue – Mikleo had never seen a blue rose, and was briefly distracted by Sorey’s latest exit by the fascinating natural discovery. He drew close to the rosebushes, reaching out to touch one blue-petaled flower in wonder.

“Blue roses,” said an unfamiliar, deep voice. “Do not exist in nature. This is a well-known fact.”

“Blue roses,” replied a familiar, perverted voice. “Obviously exist in nature, since they’re right here in front of your face.”

Zaveid and a large, unfamiliar blond man had appeared behind Mikleo. Normally Mikleo would be a little more on-guard – in any other circumstances, his current outfit would provoke a lecherous frenzy of comments from Zaveid, and in general circumstances Mikleo liked making a good impression when meeting strangers. However, the two men seemed to be more interested in arguing with each other than they were about paying Mikleo any mind.

(They were both dressed like overgrown children, with little propeller hats, sailor suits, and knee-socks that their muscular calves were nearly bursting from. Mikleo declined to comment on this. It was kind of a refreshing, wholesome change from Zaveid’s normal fashion sense.)

“The fact that they are here does not change the fact that they do not exist,” the stranger said firmly. “In classical flower language they represent immortal love. A philosophical concept that also does not exist.”

“If it doesn’t exist, why’s there a goddamn term for it?” Zaveid retorted. “They got a word for it in flower language, therefore it exists. They got rules for using blue roses in flower language, therefore they exist.”

“It’s a _concept_ ,” said the stranger. “Infinity is a concept. There are rules for incorporating it into mathematical equations. That does not change the fact that it is a concept alone in the end, and that it does not grow on rosebushes.”

Zaveid’s eyes had begun to cross the second the stranger had started going on about math, but his eyes snapped back into focus at the end, at the sound of the firm conviction in the stranger’s voice.

“Alright, square up, ‘cause you’re just trying to confuse me on purpose with math and number shit,” Zaveid said, raising his fists.

The stranger lifted one fist and downed Zaveid with a single punch to the jaw. Mikleo knew he had to intervene before Zaveid just got up again and demanded a rematch, which would doubtless have the same results. Rinse and repeat ad infinitum, ad blue roses.

“Wait!” Mikleo cried as Zaveid stumbled to his feet, punch drunk, and winding up for a strike at the stranger. “While it’s true that blue roses don’t grow in nature, neither does…cake or ice cream or biscuits.”

The stranger’s eyes narrowed in confusion. He kept Zaveid at arm’s length with one hand on his forehead, while Zaveid windmilled his fists futilely.

“…explain now,” said the stranger.

Mikleo steamed forward at the opportunity he was granted. “Wheat is a natural occurrence, but it needs to be processed and mixed with other ingredients before a cake can exist. A goat and grass are natural occurrences, but you need to combine them to make milk, and then work with that to make ice cream. But even though cake and ice cream don’t grow on trees--”

“Or on rosebushes,” the stranger added.

“…or on rosebushes, cake and ice cream still exist, don’t they? This is a provable fact. So even though blue roses may not come about naturally, they still got here somehow, so why not admire and study the ingenuity that created them?”

“Or eat them,” Zaveid said helpfully.

“Fine,” Mikleo said, exasperated. “Sure.”

The stranger stroked his chin thoughtfully, nodding as he turned Mikleo’s explanation over in his mind.

“I have a hypothesis,” began the stranger.

“I had that back in the day too,” interrupted Zaveid sympathetically. “Burned when I peed. If you eat some cranberries you’ll feel better.”

The stranger pinched Zaveid’s lips shut to make him stop talking. “I have a hypothesis,” he began again. “That a bunch of sentient playing cards came through with paint and colored these roses, and it’s all part of an elaborate social commentary on Victorian morals.”

Zaveid and Mikleo stared at the stranger long enough for him to become visibly uncomfortable. The stranger scowled, blushed, and looked away.

As if inspired into sympathy, the rose wall parted in two; giving Mikleo an escape route as well as an opportunity to chase after where Sorey had disappeared to. Mikleo awkwardly shifted in place, then turned and left with a curt word of farewell.

“Bye now,” Zaveid said back. “Remember the cranberries! Helps the burning!”

As Mikleo continued down the path, the roses grew thicker and thicker; drowning Mikleo in color and scent. Soon they were so thick that Mikleo couldn’t move without the brush of petal and leaf against his skin; however, even as he moved through the flowers, he never felt the scrape of thorns pulling at his skirts. He kept moving down the cobblestone path, kept pushing through the flora and foliage, trying to spot the pert little hide of the hare that he seared for.

Suddenly, he heard a laugh that was as familiar as it was concerning. The roses parted around Mikleo, and he found himself in an elegant garden, decorated with fine stonework and trimmed with hedges that seemed to scrape the sky. At the head of the garden, standing inside a gazebo, was Lailah – dressed in regal gown and cloak, and laughing the way she did when she had made an especially wretched and unfunny pun. Rows upon rows of normin surrounded her, bowing and groveling to her on the garden green. A single normin was tied and bound to a stake on a platform to the side of the gazebo; standing proud and defiant despite his undoubtedly grave situation.

“We are gathered here today to witness the trial and execution of this heinous enemy of the state!” Lailah trilled. She waved her regal-looking stave, adorned with a single perfect orb, over the surrounding crowd. “Witness the _pun_ -ishment of this dastardly deviant that disrespects the crown! Off with his hat!”

The crowd of normin gasped, and watched in rapt terror as Lailah’s guards approached the bound normin – despite the normin’s continued poker face in the shadow of impending doom, Mikleo could see the sweat begin to bead on his head. Mikleo was a young seraph indeed, naïve to the ways of the world and the inter-political maneuvering between various magical races, but the idea of a normin without a hat seemed fundamentally wrong to him – a violation of a universal constant that would cause reality to collapse in on itself. Before he could stop to think, he was rushing forward with a panicked shout.

“Wait!”

Lailah gazed down at him imperiously, and pointed at him with her orb-stave.

“Who interrupts justice? How did you make it through my floral defense system?”

Mikleo knew only one way to get through to Lailah, and it wasn’t a weapon to be wielded lightly – but with the fate of the universe hanging in the balance, he had little choice.

“I _rose_ to the occasion,” he said.

The crowd giggled. Mikleo put his hands on his hips, and lifted his chin, trying to look confident despite wanting to die inside. Lailah puffed out her cheeks and tried to hide her undignified snort of laughter behind her sleeve. Schooling her expression, she glided down the gazebo steps to get a better look at Mikleo. She took Mikleo’s chin between her thumb and index finger, and turned his face this way and that, studying him. She then walked around him in a long, thoughtful circle, plucking at his skirts and ribbons, humming and murmuring to herself all the while.

“So,” Lailah finally said. “You made it through my _guard_ en.”

Lailah paused for a long moment after that, looking at everyone expectantly. The crowd was silent. Mikleo blinked slowly.

“ _Guard_ en?  Garden _, guarrrrden_?”

Lailah prodded them verbally, then literally prodded the nearest normin with her stave. Mikleo got the pun at this point, but was mostly just struck with secondhand embarrassment. He coughed lightly, and continued.

“I had just enough _stamen-a_ to make it through,” Mikleo said. The normins around him giggled again, and a few clapped in delight. Even the bound normin had a twitch to his mouth. “Please, Lail—your majesty, surely that normin hasn’t done something so heinous that you need to…to…”

It was too much, too wrong a concept, to even speak aloud. Mikleo mimed removing a hat from his own head. Lailah tsked and shook her head.

“Alas,” she said. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown. This criminal dared to insult our royal dignity.”

Lailah spun around in a circle, causing her gowns to swirl around her dramatically.

“But! We do not _lilac_ mercy,” she continued, to zero applause. “Do you intend to testify on the accused’s behalf?”

Mikleo didn’t know the first thing about being a public defender, much less the rules of whatever passed as a system of law in an illusory magic prison world. But there was someone who needed his help, and the lives of millions in the balance.

“…you’ve put me in an _orchid_ position,” Mikleo said slowly. More giggles. “What has he done specifically? Do you have any witnesses or evidence?”

“The witness is the universe itself,” Lailah said. “And the evidence is self-evident. He lacks contrition! Criminal! Do you repent your actions?”

“Nay!” barked the normin. He had a bizarrely deep voice, for his kind. “The monarchal system inherently oppresses the common man! The common norMAN! We will suffer under the yoke of your vile puns no longer! My comrades; are you with me!?”

The gathered normins shrugged off his impassioned speech. Mikleo rose an eyebrow.

“Shouldn’t you be more supportive of him?” he asked the crowd. “After all, she could do this to any of you, too…”

“Eh,” said a normin from the crowd. “It ain’t so bad gettin’ ruled over by a proud beauty like Miss Queenie. It’s kinda exhilaratin’.”

“We wouldn’t mind getting co-ruled by _you_ and Miss Queenie, though,” cooed another normin.

The normin crowd shouted and squealed their agreement. They crowded around Mikleo, fawning and pawing at him. Mikleo stumbled backward, trying desperately not to trip on anyone as he looked for an escape route. Maybe he could grab the prisoner normin on his way out – but with the insistent tugging on his skirts, and the veritable sea of normin around him, it was becoming less and less likely that he was going to escape at all.

Suddenly, there came salvation, raining from the heavens. A single, perfect, large opaque rainbow orb descended into the gardens. It emitted a pleasant hum, and seemed to radiate a feeling of contentment. Lailah’s eyes went huge, and she dropped her stave to the ground as her limbs went slack in the presence of this most glorious and luminous of orbs. The normin were equally as entranced, and in the midst of this un-chaos, Mikleo felt a hand grab his wrist and drag him off into the depths of the rose hedges; far away from the trial’s happenings, far away from any interlopers.

“Right on time,” Sorey said cheekily. “Or just about.”

Mikleo was thankful for the intervention. He truly was. However, he was also quite finished with chasing Sorey over hill and dale. Before Sorey could try running away again, Mikleo summoned a tendril of water to grab at his ankles and yank him to the ground. Mikleo climbed atop him, and couldn’t help the wild, triumphant smile that threatened to split his face.

He’d finally caught him. _Finally_. He didn’t know why Sorey had been running, and still didn’t know where they were, and still didn’t know how to get everyone back into the real world, but he’d _finally_ caught Sorey after Sorey had been taunting and _teasing_ him all this time.

But…there was the matter of what to do now, now that he’d caught his slippery quarry. Mikleo shivered as he felt Sorey’s hands slip up his skirts, as he felt Sorey’s lips brush against where his pulse hammered in his throat. Well. Mikleo supposed that was as good a direction as any. (But that was perhaps the teasing and sexual frustration talking.)

Blue roses had bloomed beneath them as bedding, and Mikleo felt the silken touch of their petals against his skin when Sorey flipped their positions and dropped Mikleo on his back. Sorey leaned in to give him a deep, wet, and all-too-short kiss before he leaned down to work on Mikleo’s stockings.

“You’re just too pretty in all this, Mikleo,” Sorey murmured. He untied one of the ribbons that held the tops up, and slid the stocking down his thigh and over his knee. “But I can’t see those legs of yours in these.”

“You can see them just fine,” Mikleo tried to retort. He trailed off into a whimper when Sorey kissed the inside of his knee, and proceeded upward.

Sorey slid a gloved hand against the skin of his inner thigh, and Mikleo couldn’t hold back the shiver at the touch. Sorey smiled wide.

“I wanna see all of you,” Sorey said. One stocking down, he moved to the other. “Every last inch.”

After untying the ribbon on this one, Sorey bit down on the hem of the stocking and tugged it down Mikleo’s leg with his teeth; using his now-free hands to grope everywhere he could reach. Mikleo’s head fell back onto the pillow of roses. He felt ready to drown in scent and sensation. Sorey’s gloved hand, roaming under Mikleo’s skirts, came across the lacy panties that Mikleo had tried his best to ignore he’d been wearing. Sorey squeezed at his erection through the flimsy fabric with a curious look on his face. Before Mikleo could kick him away, Sorey had plunged his head underneath Mikleo’s skirts to get a better look. His rabbit ears pushed up the fabric ridiculously.

Mikleo heard an excited, pleased noise over the crinkle of crinoline, and barely resisted the urge to bring his fist down on Sorey’s head.

“So _pretty_ , Mikleo,” moaned Sorey.

Before Mikleo could follow through on the fist thing, he felt the wonderful, warm, and familiar pressure of Sorey’s tongue and lips. Sorey sucked on his erection through the lace of his panties; the damp fabric clinging to Mikleo’s sensitive skin and making him squirm. Squirm though he tried, Sorey’s gloved hands clutched at his hips in a vice grip. Every swipe and suck made Mikleo harder, and made it all the more uncomfortable to stay trapped in his lacy underthings. Mikleo made a helpless noise, and shifted his skirts until he found one rabbit ear to tug on.

“Sorey,” he pleaded. “Tickles. We can—just let me take them off, then we can--”

Sorey was five steps ahead of him before Mikleo could finish his thought. His gloves were made of such fine silk, but Mikleo was so on edge from being teased that they felt rough as canvas against him. Mikleo wondered how Sorey’s bare hands, rough and callused as they were, would feel on him now. He shivered hard at the very thought of it. Sorey finished sliding Mikleo’s panties down and off, and ducked back under his skirts to continue his exploration.

Sorey’s lips wrapped around the head of his cock, and he sucked urgently as one hand palmed at Mikleo’s balls. Mikleo writhed at the feeling, and one urgent thrust of his hips had him sinking deep into Sorey’s mouth and brushing the back of his throat. Sorey moaned as if he was about to come right then and there, and he let his jaw go slack so Mikleo could continue to fuck his mouth at his leisure. Mikleo made a despairing noise, and held himself still with immense effort. He brought one shaking hand to tug at Sorey’s bunny ears again.

“Get up here,” Mikleo begged. “Don’t want to come yet…”

Sorey pulled off him with a lewd wet slurp, and peeked over Mikleo’s skirts. He had that smile on his face that meant he was planning something – Sorey was so desperately unable to keep secrets. Mikleo scowled at him suspiciously.

“…what do you have up your sleeve?” Mikleo asked him.

Sorey grinned wider, and with a flick of his wrist, he was holding a small glass bottle he’d tucked away – indeed, up his sleeve. A tiny little label made of elegant stationery was tied to it with a pale pink ribbon: stating “DRINK ME”. Sorey popped out the glass stopper and took a tiny sip, then offered it to Mikleo as well.

In retrospect, Mikleo should not have readily accepted food or drink in a strange magical land. But unfortunately, Mikleo was curious to a fault. Mikleo swirled the liquid in the bottle, watching as rainbow light refracted through it, and hesitantly brought it to his lips. As the liquid caressed his tongue and throat, he was reminded of the taste of that fake elixir in Gododdin. And he was reminded of what resulted from that. Curiosity killed him once again.

The liquid seemed to rush to every limb, to every nerve, with the speed of a forest fire. He was _burning_. Mikleo gasped and seized Sorey by both rabbit ears, and dragged him in for a desperate kiss to cool the flames in his blood. But the kiss did no such thing. It scorched him from the inside, leaving him more wrecked than he’d started. Mikleo was helpless but to keep kissing Sorey, keep biting and sucking on his lips and tongue, keep trying to put out a kitchen fire by throwing oil on it.

The lustful moan that tore from Mikleo’s throat when he felt Sorey’s slicked fingers playing with his hole would have embarrassed him in any other circumstances, but he was beyond that – beyond anything but his all-consuming need to have Sorey’s cock inside him as soon as possible. He panted into Sorey’s mouth as Sorey’s fingers worked inside him; two, three fingers stretching him out and teasing around that spot that made his vision go white. Mikleo was almost thankful that Sorey was not making a direct assault on it – he was so on edge and oversensitive that he was sure he’d come to pieces at the barest breeze.

Sorey’s other hand, still gloved, roamed over Mikleo’s chest and waist; groping at the lines of his body through his clothing. Mikleo wanted to swat that hand away, wanted to turn himself onto his stomach and shove his ass up and have Sorey fuck him until his blood burned out the elixir. He’d let Sorey grope at wherever he wanted if he’d just stop this prolonged preparation and just _put it in him_ already.

Finally, Sorey removed his fingers and dragged Mikleo’s hips up; propping Mikleo’s legs up on his shoulders. He unfastened his trousers with one hand and took out his cock; giving it a few strokes before he rubbed the tip against Mikleo’s slicked entrance, as if asking for permission to slide inside. Gritting his teeth in frustration – Sorey was clinging to social niceties _now?_ – Mikleo thrust up his hips, and let a throaty moan escape as he felt Sorey’s cock fill him up.

It had been such a long day. It had been such a long, long day, full of so many strange and curious things, and Mikleo would be willing to write it off as an overall success if this was his reward for getting through it. Sorey’s cock fucked into him relentlessly, pounding him into the rose-bed; the hard, deep thrusts driving any other thoughts from Mikleo’s mind. Sorey’s grunts and groans rumbled so low and needy that they made Mikleo shake in delicious empathy. He covered his face with one trembling hand, unable to keep looking at that gorgeous expression on Sorey’s face – he didn’t want to come, not yet, he wanted more, more of Sorey’s cock pumping in and out of him, more of his body on his own, more of his lips and his hands and more of his beautiful sounds—

Sorey’s cock brushed against that sensitive spot inside of him, and Mikleo let out a desperate wail; his nails digging into Sorey’s shoulders and neck. Sorey took that as a direct order to shift Mikleo’s hips and position himself to target that spot without even a hint of mercy. Mikleo writhed, arched his spine – he couldn’t hold on, not a moment longer. Sorey’s silk-gloved hand came up to stroke Mikleo’s cock, just the way he loved it, and that was it. Mikleo came in a flurry of shivers, but took his revenge on Sorey by messing those gloves of his with his cum, and squeezing down on his cock hard enough to make Sorey cry out in ecstasy.

“ _Mikleo_ ,” he wailed. His thrusts lost their rhythm, lost anything but the intent to bury himself in Mikleo as deep as possible, over and over again. “So, so pretty, want you, want you so bad--”

“You’ve got me,” Mikleo said hoarsely. He smoothed the hair back from Sorey’s face, and kissed at the sweat on his brow. “You’ve got me. Now and always.”

Sorey gave one last moan, and Mikleo felt his warmth spread inside him; chasing away the all-consuming fire of the elixir and replacing it with a gentle, pulsing heat. Mikleo held him close as Sorey’s body quaked with aftershocks and his hips continued to weakly thrust, chasing the last waves of feeling.

White light began to overtake them, and blinking, Mikleo tried to clear his vision.

Mikleo awoke slowly, with the familiar hum and heat of summer about him, and Sorey’s arm around his waist. Sorey was facing him, and was still fast asleep; however, the flutter of his eyelashes and the cadence of his breath assured Mikleo he’d be up and around soon. Mikleo smiled gently, and stroked at his cheek once before carefully extricating himself from Sorey’s embrace to evaluate their situation.

They were back in the real world, and the camp site was just as Mikleo remembered it. Everyone in their group was out cold: Edna had toppled from her seat on a log near the dying campfire and was snoozing face-down in the dirt, Zaveid had managed to contort himself into a lewd pose with his hips tilted to the heavens. Rose slept, dreaming peaceful dreams, with her face buried firmly in Lailah’s cleavage. Lailah smiled in her sleep; surely with visions of orbs dancing through her head.

It would be a simple, heartwarming scene if not for a pair of uninvited guests. Mikleo saw Symonne groggily stumbling to her feet – she appeared to have tumbled from her perch on a branch overlooking the campsite, and had leaves and branches sticking out of her hair. She did not seem to notice Mikleo, and was growling to herself as she hefted up one big lion foot and tried to beat a not-terribly-hasty retreat with her indisposed master before the group woke up. Heldalf’s massive form left a very noticeable trail of dirt and snapped branches as they went; in addition to the constant purring and drooling. Catnip: not even once.

Mikleo knew he was alone, and probably outmatched. He knew should just let Symonne leave, and wait for the rest of the group to wake up, and fill them in on what had occurred. But he had just been put through so much bullshit, and couldn’t help himself.

“Rough night?” Mikleo jeered at her.

Symonne turned and glared tiredly. She wobbled on her feet as she tried to focus her eyes on him, and Mikleo was struck with something that almost resembled pity.

“I’ll have you know…it’s…not easy…complicated illusion and…so many people…damn teenagers getting it on and…wrecking my concentration…”

“What a pity,” Mikleo said. “I suppose that means you and your associate have learned your lesson?’

“I haven’t learned shiiiitttt,” Symonne slurred, stumbling over to Mikleo and drawing her wand.

Heldalf gurgled on his drool, and made an especially loud purr.

“Ohhhhh…Michael, you…saucy little shepherd’s pie…”

He rumbled out another loud purr, and biscuited the air with renewed vigor.

Awkward silence crushed them like a two-ton block. Symonne quietly tucked her wand away, then turned around and wordlessly continued to drag off Heldalf. Mikleo thought that was probably for the best.

The rest of the group was beginning to groan and flop about, blinking their eyes and squinting against the mid-afternoon sun. There was still light left in the day, and time left to reorient themselves to the real world once more.

And when Sorey tucked himself close to him in their bedroll that night, and quietly slipped him a blue rose petal, Mikleo was able to return his sly, secretive little smile.

**Author's Note:**

> the moral of this story is "winners don't do drugs"


End file.
